


An Interesting School Day

by TheFullmetalSociopath



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: (in general), Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - High School, BAMF Jason Todd, Big Brother Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Damian Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Damian Wayne is Robin, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Gen, Help, How Do I Tag, Identity Porn, Identity Reveal, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd is Alive, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Kinda, POV Multiple, POV Outsider, Protective Bruce Wayne, School Shootings, Secret Identity, Secret Identity Fail, Suicide, Tim Drake is Red Robin, again its kinda-ish, all these bois love each other, almost forgot!, damian is a freshie, damian wayne is actually really sweet, dick's a senior, i guess it'a kinda AU??, jason's a junior, they're all highschoolers because that's easier, they're the best bros, tim is a sophomore, tim is smrt so he's a year ahead, you all are just cowards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 14:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15487920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFullmetalSociopath/pseuds/TheFullmetalSociopath
Summary: "The teacher rushed to the door and locked it, while working to barricade the door. A few girls were sobbing, some people were hiding under their desks, and Damian was fairly sure one of the boys had wet themselves.During all of this Damian had been thinking. Why were these criminals here? It was obviously not a “normal” school shooting. How long would it take the police to get here? Too long. Vigilantes? Couldn’t count on them. Bruce? Away on a business trip. What would the casualties be if they waited until help arrived? Too high.That left really only one choice."What would happen if the bat boys were all in high school, and there was a break-in at the school? Damian is exasperated, Dick is worried about his classmates, and Jason and Tim face a mutiny. How will they all handle the various situations?Crossposted on FFN





	1. Why Now?

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys!  
> I know it’s been a while, and I feel really bad about writing this without continuing my stories I put on hiatus, and I am so sorry. But this particular fic has been bothering me for months, even before I wrote my other ones, and I was reminded of it and just had to get it off my chest! Heads up in advance; I probably am doing this fic all wrong in regards to what is canon, given that the main source I have has been through other fanfics and fan comics. But the whole batfam concept has had me hooked for a while, and I just had to write something! Please read, review, favorite, and follow. Hope you guys all enjoy!  
> Info: Honestly, this is probably part AU, but the boys (Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian) are all in high school, in order senior to freshman. For simplicity’s sake it works better for the story I had in mind and the personas I may bring up are Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, Robin, and of course Batman.  
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Batman, or DC…

_ Damian Wayne _

 

Honestly, Damian Wayne couldn’t care less about school. Given his family name he was either constantly pestered or revered like a god. The second one he could get used to, if he liked people, that was. Also, due to his “after school activities,” school was perhaps  _ the  _ most boring thing Damian had to endure. It also didn’t help at all that his teachers weren’t smart and his classmates were downright  _ stupid _ . At least from his point of view. 

He stared out the window of the second story classroom towards the parking lot and the road. There was absolutely nothing going on to distract him from the lecture his teacher was giving on… what was this class on again? He tried to focus in on the lesson for a moment.

“The Greeks made many advances in things such as philosophy, arts, and warfare,” his teacher’s voice droned, raspy and monotone. “That, in turn, influenced…” Damian again zoned out of the lecture, which he had deemed useless at that point, and glanced out the window again. He couldn’t wait to beat up some grunt on patrol, or better yet, beat up one of his “brothers” when he got ho-

Oh, this was interesting. 

Five, no,  _ six  _ white vans pulled into the parking lot at breakneck paces, each one screeching to a halt haphazardly. Immediately the doors were jerked open and dozens of men with masks and guns poured out onto the asphalt and streamed towards the main doors. Damian heard the sound of breaking glass and then a split second later the lockdown alarm went off, accompanied by a panicked voice on the intercom. 

“There’s been a break in! Level three lockdown! The criminals are-” the voice was abruptly cut off by the earsplitting bang of a gun and a bloodcurdling scream. The only sound that could be heard in the silent classroom was the static on the intercom, which could have been a stadium loudspeaker for how loud it sounded in that moment. The entire room was stunned silent, simply too shocked by the sudden change of circumstances to be scared. One moment ticked by. Two. Then the reality set in, and so did the fear. 

The teacher rushed to the door and locked it, while working to barricade the door. A few girls were sobbing, some people were hiding under their desks, and Damian was fairly sure one of the boys had wet themselves. 

During all of this Damian had been thinking. Why were these criminals here? It was obviously not a “normal” school shooting. How long would it take the police to get here? Too long. Vigilantes? Couldn’t count on them. Bruce? Away on a business trip. What would the casualties be if they waited until help arrived?  _ Too high.  _

That left really only one choice. 

This was such a bad idea, but it was the only one he had. 

He sent out the text to his adopted brothers and ran to the door to somehow convince his teacher to let him out of the room.

* * *

 

_ Dick Grayson _

 

Richard Grayson had been in class as well when the alarms went off, and it’s fair to say that he was surprised. He had been chatting with the cute girl in the seat in front of him, and wasn’t even paying attention to class (like all his brothers he should have been studying at a college level) when the alarm went off signaling that there had been a break in, and then the announcement went off and ended abruptly with a gunshot, which caused total chaos in the classroom. The girl he had been talking to, Tracy, started sobbing and clutched Dick’s arm. 

“What do we do?” she gasped frantically through her tears. “What do we do? We’re all going to die!” Her voice was quickly turning into a frenzied squeal, and Dick worked to calm her down.

“Shh, it’s okay. The police will come soon and take care of it. We’ll be safe. No need to worry,” he soothed. Of course, he didn’t really believe that. He knew that given the abrupt cut off of the intercom, the office workers likely hadn’t gotten a chance to notify the police, so it was safe to bet that they were only going to be notified now. It would take the police several minutes to respond, and “Batman” wouldn’t be back from his business trip for another three days. Talk about bad timing. Even then, by the time the police got there there would likely already be casualties, and it wasn’t even guaranteed the police could handle the break in, depending on the scale. 

At that moment Tracy tore him from his thoughts by voicing his fears with a simple, whispered question. 

“But what if it’s not okay?” Dick was fully ready to calm her down again when his phone vibrated. Honestly a text at a time like this, who could it be?

He unlocked his phone and saw it was from… Damian? He was the last person ick expected to be making jokes about a break in, maybe Jason but not…

Oh.

It was a game plan.

He quickly read over the text and ran to the classroom door, suddenly glad that his teacher hadn’t started barricading the door. Actually, she had fainted, and a few kids from his class were trying to block the entrance as best they could, but didn’t really know how. That made it easier for him. But first he had to calm everyone down so absolute chaos didn’t break out before he did what he needed to do.

* * *

 

_ Jason Todd _

 

Being the perceived Badboy™ of the school wasn’t easy nor was it fun. Every single punk was out for his throat and it made it all worse that he was Gotham’s billionaire's adopted son. He was also expected to get into a lot of fights because,  _ apparently,  _ he got into fistfights in back alleys near the school on a daily basis, even though he never fought kids who hadn’t done anything more than steal pop from vending machines. He reserved his skills for criminals and only used his fists when he ran out of ammo. They’d never even  _ seen  _ him fight, and they all expected him to because, hey, he  _ seems _ like a punk who’d beat up people in back alleys and make his rich father bail him out of jail, right?

Well, okay, there was one time but it was  _ totally _ Dick’s fault. But did anyone treat Dick like a punk? No. 

Also, the bad boy thing was a bit of a problem in a lockdown, trapped in a room with the equal mix of guys who hated you and wanted to rip your throat out even then, and girls who looked at you like you were going to save the day with all your bad boy charm. 

Yeah, this was not fun. 

Just as he was cursing his fickle luck, his text notification went off on his phone.

_ What now? _

It was a text from Damian.  **“6 vans. 40+ attackers w/ guns. Get to history hallway on 2nd floor, take out any hostiles on the way. Need a better plan than I can txt, & need to get the people here safe. You know the police won’t get here fast enough.” ** After a second another text was sent out.  **“Also, Tim hack into the security cams.”**

Jason quickly turned to Tim, who just so happened to be in the same class as him, and nodded to him, seeing that he had also just read the text. Tim quickly dashed to the teacher’s computer and began typing at a blinding pace. 

Just then, as the class began to look confused along with scared at the to boys’ calm demeanors- after all why wouldn’t the two most pampered, sheltered boys in the room be scared out of their minds, they were a  _ billionaire's _ adopted sons after all- the intercom sputtered to life. 

“We have the school surrounded, so don’t try to escape,” a deep voice growled. “The police will be of no help- they won’t be able rush in to save you all when we’re holding an entire school hostage, will they?” This elicited screams of fear from the gathered students and teachers alike, and Jason thought he heard some shouts from neighboring classrooms. “However, if you all comply no one else will get hurt,” the voice continued. “Just hand over the Wayne boys and everything will go smoothly. If not…” the voice trailed off and they heard a woman sobbing, and then a the loud report of a gunshot. The woman was not heard again. The voice returned for one more instant, and simply said, “Understand? You have three minutes. Hand them over,” and the intercom broke into static again. 

The classroom was silent for what felt like an eternity. No one moved. Then the biggest thug in the room stepped up and pointed at Jason.

“I-It’s obvious what we’ve gotta d-do!” he stuttered out. “We give ‘em up! What’re a few rich jerks to a whole school?!” There were murmurs of approval from most of the class. Being not well liked, he could have expected this. But Tim… well, he was so quiet that nobody really knew him, so it was likely their animosity towards Jason was spreading to Tim. Either way, this wasn’t a good situation. 

“Hey Tim, are you in yet?”

“Sixty seconds.”

“Okay.” Jason turned back to the thug, what was his name… Nick? No… Nash, that’s what it was. “Nash, everyone, think this through. If you do this-”

“Wha’, I’ll be a killer? Respons’ble for your death?” Nash cut him off with a nervous laugh. “I’d rather be that th’n dead!” Jason could tell there was no convincing him, or the rest of the room for that matter.  _ Geez, talk about morals…  _

“Got it,” Tim called.

“Oh, good,” Jason went to the computer and leaned over Tim’s shoulder. There were numerous hostiles within the school, and he quickly took in their positions. With the four of them, this would be doable. He was just about to resume talking to Nash when he felt cold metal on his throat. He heard Nash’s voice in his ear. 

“You and your brother are both gunna get out in the hallway or I’ll do those dudes’ jobs for them.” Jason saw a few more guys approach him and Tim, and he didn’t particularly want to get in a fight with these guys. 

“Hey, hey no need to get violent. We were just about to go.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, and anyway why the hell do you rejects have knives in school?”

“Uhhh…”

“Whatever. Let me have it.” 

“No way! You’re going to take it and then use it to stay in here. Why do you want it anyway?” Nash exclaimed. Jason sighed. He knew it was a long shot, but he wanted something to fight with. It made him more comfortable.

“Look. How about you walk both of us to the door, push us into the hallway, and  _ then  _ give us the knives? That make you happy?”

“Why are you so damn ready to die?”

“Do you want me and Tim out in the hallway or not? Just do it.” Nash looked suspicious, but reluctantly replied, keeping his knife to Jason’s throat as he led him to the door, Tim following behind, escorted by two of Nash’s lackeys. Nash reached towards the door with shaking fingers and flung it open, pushing Jason and Tim out immediately. The hallway was eerily silent and barren, but there were far off echoes of heavy boots. 

“Okay, now give us the knives.” 

Nash wavered at the door, panic thinly veiled on his face. 

“N-no.”

* * *

 

_ Nash Deas _

 

“What?” There was a dangerous tone to Jason’s voice. 

“No. I’m not givin’ ya the knives,” he said more firmly. “We gunna need something do defend ourselves with, n’ we ‘nt givin’ ‘em ta somebody who’s not gunna be able to use it anyway. Not against these dudes. I d’nt care how many kids you’ve beat up in back alleys or somethin’, this the police couldn’t even handle without losin’ some.” Nash said, actual concern glittering in his eyes, mixed with disbelief and the conventional hate he held for someone he viewed as a rival. “Only thing that’s got even a chance at survivn’ this is one o’ them vigilante types.” And he truly believed it. Sure, he’d said he was ready to give these rich kids up, but was he really? He didn’t know what was real and what was an act anymore. But one thing he knew for sure was that no normal person could hope to get out of the situation these guys were putting themselves into, which branded them as either crazy brave, crazy stupid, or just plain crazy.

So why was it that these guys made him waver? Nash knew. A dark night one year ago, gunshots, a crazed villain, and a close shaved save by a vigilante saved his life, but not the lives of his buddies, who had acted much like these two were now, taking on more than they could possibly handle. 

Because of this, Nash left the door open as he stood in the doorway, debating his actions. 

Because of this, Jason and Tim failed to start moving immediately as they had originally planned, unbeknownst to Nash. 

And because of this, when the ten intruders entered the hallway, instead of finding every door closed tight, they found an easy target in the open door to Nash, Jason, and Tim’s classroom.


	2. We, Uh, Take Self Defense Classes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!  
> Hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Please let me know if there are any issues with grammar or anything I could improve on. Please read, review, follow and favorite!  
> Enjoy!

_ Nash Deas _

 

His heart stopped. The intruders, the men with guns, had made it to this hallway already. And Nash had left the door to the classroom wide open. There were gunshots, and he dove behind the doorway, and in his panic he failed to close the door. One man charged into the classroom and held those inside at gunpoint. 

Nash couldn’t even think. His friends were going to die. They were going to die again and no one would come to help, because this time, there were no vigilantes, no heroes, to help. He closed his eyes, waiting for his death. He heard a gunshot and flinched, but he wasn’t killed. Then who was the gun fired at?

He forced his eyes open and saw that no one in the classroom was shot, no blood was on the floor. The shot came from the hallway. Oh god. The rich kids. They had to be dead. Then another, unexpected sound came from the hallway. Voices. The voices of the Wayne kids. They were alive! And more than that, they were…

Bickering?

That couldn’t be right, because who in their right mind would be acting like that at a time like this? Their lives were on the line! So that couldn’t be the case, yet it was. But what were they arguing about?

“No guns!”

“But  _ why _ ?”

“I’m not letting you have a gun! You know my policy.”

“Your  _ policy _ isn’t going to help anyone if we can’t handle this!”

“Oh for the love of… Okay. Yeah. I see your point. Just, I dunno, try not to kill. Like, maybe severely wound if at all possible?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

Now Nash was  _ really _ confused. They didn’t have any guns, so why were they arguing about them? What the hell kind of policy were they talking about? And just how were these two pompous jerks so damn calm?

He looked past the armed man and saw Tim and Jason back to back, grinning like they did this type of thing every day, and then some. That settled it, these guys were crazy. Batshit crazy. 

Jason and Tim both charged forward at the same instant, moving so quickly it was almost hard for Nash to follow their movements. Jason swept the feet out from under one of them, and took both of the man’s pistols. He quickly shot him in the knee and the shoulder, spraying the wall with blood but not killing him. He dropped to the floor and swept his leg under the feet of two men near him, and incapacitated them as well. 

Tim went for a different approach, disarming his opponent and then knocking him out after a swift blow to the neck, and with a few kicks and punches he did the same to the men around him. Through all of this Nash could barely believe his eyes. No, he just  _ couldn’t _ . 

Just who were these guys?

In under a minute, both of them had taken down the nine armed men in the hallway. Nash looked at the one still in the classroom with fear, and saw him aim his gun. Nash felt the cold metal of a gun barrel on his forehead. He closed his eyes and waited for his end. This was just like the last time, except this time he was not in a dark alley, but he was still as trapped as he had been then. Trapped in his fear. 

A deep voice growled, “Drop the gun.” A trigger clicked, gun at the ready. That voice. That voice was the same too. But that couldn’t be… because the person who had saved him that night was… Red Hood. 

His eyes flew open to see Jason Todd standing behind the man, his own gun held to the back of his neck. His eyes were steely, totally different than they had been mere hours earlier. The gun remained at Nash’s forehead. 

“Drop it, or I blow your head off, piss off my brother, and traumatize a room of kids.”

The man with the gun was trembling, the tip of the gun shaking in front of Nash’s face. 

“Ju-just who the hell do you think you are,” he forced out. “What the hell? You’re a kid! I should be the one threatening you.”

“Oh, I’m anything but. Now drop the gun.”

The criminal was shaking so hard that at this point it was probably hard for him to even hold the gun, and it clattered to the floor. Jason took his gun away from the man’s neck, and the intruder visibly relaxed. Then he reached into his pocket and drew out a knife. He lunged for Nash, who was still too frozen from shock, trying to process the situation to react. 

“Oh-ho no you don’t.”

The criminal crumpled to the ground. His knife had been inches from Nash’s eye when he collapsed. He looked up to see Jason standing over the man, looking down in disdain.

“What. An. Idiot,” he said, and plucked the knife from the man’s limp hands. “Why would he do that if I was standing behind him with a gun? Stupidity never ceases to amaze me.” Nash looked at the motionless body in horror.

“Is he…?” he croaked out, unable to finish the question. 

“Dead?” Jason asked, looking like he had forgotten Nash was there. “Nah. I just knocked him out with the butt of the gun. Why don’t you tie him up so he doesn’t cause any more trouble?” He glanced back into the hallway. “Hey, Timmy, you done?” he called.

“Yeah,” Tim replied. “And don’t call me that,” he added.

“Okay,” Jason turned back towards Nash and the other people in the classroom. “We’re gonna drag the rest of the guys in here… uh, no… wait,” he glanced back into the hallway. “We’re actually going to drag them into the janitor’s closet, since that’s locked from the outside. There should be duct tape or something in there that we can use too.” The entire room gaped at him, still in disbelief. No one moved. 

“How the hell are you so calm? How did you do all that?” Nash gathered up the courage to ask. He wanted answers. Jason had sounded so much like the vigilante that had saved his life, and he just wanted to know. “Are you vigilantes?”

Jason opened his mouth to reply, but Tim popped his head through the doorway and answered. “We’re a billionaire’s kids, do you think we’ve never been kidnapped or in a pinch before? And why would you think we’re vigilantes? Sure we can fight, but we’ve been taking self defense and karate classes for a while because we get targeted so much,” he laughed dismissively. “Vigilantes? Us? Maybe Jason beats up kids in back alleys, but that hardly counts!”

Jason looked like he wanted to object, but he only muttered something indiscernible (and absolutely explicit) under his breath. Nash felt like an idiot. Of course two rich kids would know how to defend themselves. This was Gotham, after all, and they would be targeted mercilessly. 

The rest of the people who had witnessed the fight thought this as well, and soon got up to help restrain the ten men. 

They didn’t even stop to think how two rich kids, albeit with defensive training, took out ten men without getting a scratch.

* * *

 

_ Tracy Lierman _

 

Tracy had to admit, even though she was scared out of her mind she still couldn’t keep from watching Dick Grayson. He was so kind, and miraculously enough, he was calm in a situation like this. It was even more obvious to her why she had a crush on him. Well, that and the fact that he was an ungodly level of hot, and drowning-in-money filthy rich, but that was none of her concern. 

Dick was calming down everyone in the room, and trying to revive the fainted teacher. It warmed Tracy’s heart to see such a kind person at a time like this. And, if she were to be close to him now, maybe she had a chance with him!

Tracy get up from her desk on weak but determined legs, and with a misplaced (and poorly timed) conviction to become the significant other of one Dick Grayson, began to help others as well. She calmed down the small freshman girl that sat in front of her, only in the class due to advanced placement (honestly who was that smart?), and made her way over to the passed out teacher. Dick cast a fleeting look over his shoulder.

“Ah, good, Tracy. Could you help me with Mrs. Deeds?” he asked.

“Uh, sure,” Tracy replied. “What’s wrong with her. Other than being passed out,” she added. 

“Well,” he huffed, “she’s old, and she hit her head on a desk on her way to the floor.” He pointed out a gash on her scalp. “I’m worried she has a concussion. And,” he turned Mrs. Deeds slightly so Tracy would see a spot of blood on the teacher’s sweater, “I think a stitch may have ripped.” Tracy looked at him questioningly. Why would their teacher have stitches?

“Remember when Mrs. Deeds was gone last week?”

“Yes… wasn’t she away for a surgery… oh…” 

“Yeah,” Dick turned to fully face Tracy. His crystalline eyes bored into her. “I’m worried that the police won’t get here fast enough, and she’ll lose too much blood. We’re going to have to do something about the stitches. Didn’t you intern at a hospital for a little while?”

“Yes, but only for the NICU, I don’t actually know how to stitch…” What? He was actually going to try to have it stitched before the police got here? 

“That’s alright, just get the first aid kit from her desk.” Tracy got up and brought back the first aid kit like he asked, and opened it. She sifted through the bandaids and medical tape, and- miraculously enough- found a stitching kit. He reached for it and she grabbed his hand.

“Do you know how to stitch?” she asked. Dick came from a rich family, there was no way he knew how to do something like that. 

“Yeah,” he replied.

“How?” Now she was just more confused. Sure, a rich kid trying to be a hero and mimicking something he saw in a movie was plausible, but did he actually know how to stitch…?

“My brother Jason gets into a lot of fights,” he explained.  _ Oh yeah _ , Tracy thought,  _ the punk. Forgot about him.  _ That made sense, at least. There were rumors to no end of the fights the notorious Jason Todd got into, and even though none were confirmed, no one really questioned them. 

“Oh, okay,” Tracy amended. “Um… is there anything that you want me to do?”

“Yeah, if you could lift her shirt and take out the ripped stitches with this- here,” he handed her a pair of tweezers that were in the first aid kit. Tracy nodded and shakily took the edge of the teacher’s shirt and lifted it to see a bleeding three inch slit under the fabric. The tips of the stitches were visible and she reluctantly started to pull them out. Halfway through the task she began to feel light-headed, and sat back. Dick glanced back at her from ministering to the cut on Mrs. Deeds’s head, and asked, “Are you alright?” His eyes were soft. 

Tracy nodded again and finished taking the stitches out, and then Dick made short work of the gash, expertly stitching it up. Tracy admired him even more than she had before, and she had practically worshipped him before. 

Just then, when Tracy was beginning to feel a bit of accomplishment, a voice crackled across the intercom, demanding that they give up the Wayne boys, and even issuing a blood chilling threat. Tracy’s blood ran cold. She didn’t want to die, but she also didn’t want to get Dick killed. But before anyone could even debate it, there was a bang at the door, and a chunk of wood flew across the wood from the door. Tracy ducked to avoid the splinters. 

Her heart felt like it was going to pound out of her chest. What was going on? Was it the intruders? It had to be. But what made the wood fly…?

“They shot the lock on the door,” Dick stated, his voice urgent. “Get to the back of the room. Everyone.’’ He dragged Mrs. Deeds to the back where Tracy and the students were, and then returned to the door, standing out of sight from the doorway. Dick held a finger to his lips, signaling for silence. Suddenly the door banged open, and a man entered the room, gun held high. 

Dick whistled playfully to get his attention, and the man jerked around in surprise. Dick quickly lunged forward, grabbed the gun, vaulted over the man’s head, and held it to his throat so tight that after a few seconds the man slumped forward, passed out. Two more barged into the room, and Dick threw the passed out thug at them. One toppled over under the weight of the man that was thrown, and the other was hit and fell, caught in the tangle of limbs. 

One man stumbled up from the pile, and lunged at Dick with knife in hand, gun forgotten on the floor. Dick dodged the blade and kicked the man’s knee in, and pushed him to the floor. The final man stumbled to his feet and fired his gun at Dick, who seemed to dodge effortlessly, and then after a jaw-dropping display of acrobatic ability, landed a roundhouse kick square in the attacker’s face, who dropped to the ground. Dick cautiously leaned out to the hallway, and ducked back inside. 

“Okay, so it was only the three of you…” he trailed off, turning to the only conscious thug left. He went over to the man, writhing in pain from his broken kneecap, and firmly placed his foot on the damaged joint. The man squealed in pain, but then reduced it to just a whimper at a glare from Dick. “Why’d you come to this room? Why so few of you?” he questioned the man. 

“G-go to hell.”

Dick pressed his foot down harder.

“O-okay! We got ahold of some schedules for you guys, and so me and a few buddies went to go nab one of you, to- yow! impress the boss. Now will you please let me go?”

“Hmm… no.” Dick drew his arm back and delivered a quick punch to the man’s face, knocking him out. Tracy was shocked. She drew up the courage to speak.

“How…”

“Oh!” Dick turned to the students huddled in the back of the room and put a hand to the back of his head, looking a little embarrassed, and flashed a blinding smile. “Well, it’s kinda a mixture of self defense training, ‘cause you know; a billionaire’s kid, this kind of stuff happens a lot more than you think. And the gymnastics stuff came from being raised in the circus before I was adopted by Bruce… so… yeah,” he laughed nervously. 

Tracy was still a little shocked at his actions, but she supposed that it made sense. She nodded and looked at the pile of criminals in the doorway. “So,” she began, “what so we do with them?”

“Well we can’t just leave them laying around so… hm… hang on,” Dick pulled out his phone and put it to his head. Was he… calling someone? At a time like this?

“Heeeeey Jay-bird!” Dick greeted. Tracy couldn’t make out who was talking or what they were saying, but whoever it was, they sounded  _ angry.  _ “Ah, always so angry! So anyway, where’d you stash the guys on your end?” There was more angry speech from the phone, and then Dick continued, “Well I only  _ assumed _ , but I guess I was correct, given how angry you are.” He paused for a minute, listening. “Well, I’m surprised! I guess because of Timmy you missed your  _ shot.  _ Eh?  _ SHOT? _ ” Okay, considering Dick’s demeanor, and the fact that they had been talking about guns, that had to be a pun. And even Tracy had to admit that it was a terrible pun. And though the voice over the phone had been unintelligible, but what she heard next from the phone was very loud and  _ very _ clear.

“STOP WITH YOUR @#&$%@#*&$% PUNS! EVERY DAY! EVERY DAMN DAY! THE JANITOR’S CLOSET, SECOND FLOOR, HALLWAY THREE! HAPPY?!” The person on the other end hung up abruptly. 

“Okay, uh, so maybe that was poorly timed,” Dick turned to the others. “So could a few of you guys help me bring these dudes over to hallway 3?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Two chapters in two days, I think that’s a new record for me!  
> So, I tried to make the mood a little lighter and try my hand at some humor, since I usually don’t write that, so how’d I do? And I’m not very used to writing fight sequences, so I would love to hear any suggestions from you guys! I also would like to know what you guys think about writing from an “outsider’s” PoV, because I like to do that just to freshen things up a bit with their confusion. Yea? Nay? A bit much? Let me know! Please give me some feedback, and stay tuned for the next chapter! I hope you guys are enjoying this fic as much as I am!  
> All the love!  
> ~TheFullmetalSociopath


	3. What You Despise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three! Let’s do this!  
> Sooooooo sorry about the ridiculously long wait on this one! I was suddenly perpetually busy with no escape, and on top of that I nearly had an existential crisis on how to write Damian. I really hope you all are enjoying this fic, because I know I am! Any feedback you guys could give me on my writing would be amazing, because, frankly, I’m going outside of my comfort zone on this story. Please read, review, follow, and favorite! (And thank you to all those who already have) (and extra, extra special thanks to my bud SincerelyKayo!) Now buckle in kiddos, ‘cause being the impulse fic writer that I am, right now not even I know where this story is gonna go!  
> Disclaimer: nah I don’t own it. Onwards to the story!  
> P.S. HEADS UP this chapter gets a little dark. If you’re someone who can’t stomach suicide, maybe skip down past later parts of Shianne Wesley’s PoV and early parts of Damian’s. (I’m super sorry, I swear after that part the mood gets lighter)

_ Damian Wayne _

 

Damian, having been trained by the deadliest assassins in the world from a young age, was extremely skilled in the art of attacking. Or, as his brothers liked to put it, the art of how be a little “demon.” They were just in denial that he was superior. However, that often caused problems for Damian, since he could not help but point it out whenever they forgot. 

Right now, the problem was that everyone had ignored his plan. 

Damian huffed and looked down at his phone. Tim had just texted him, letting him know that ‘ _ due to the circumstances, they had to meet in a different hallway, and could Damian please come over there because it would just be  _ so _ much easier.’  _ Of course, Tim hadn’t phrased it as such, but that was how Damian had perceived it.

“Tt,” he leaned his head back against the lockers and closed his eyes for a moment. Oh, sometimes he hated them. So much. Many times. Frequently, now that he thought about it. Damian looked down and sighed. His plan had been the most logical, least prone to slip-ups, but did those idiots care? No. 

Sighing, Damian pushed himself off of the wall and began to cautiously pad in the direction of Hallway 3. His shoes made no sound as he gracefully passed the unconscious thugs and easily avoided the small blood splatters on the floor. Amateurs, really. 

He halted in his steps. The unconscious thugs. The rest of the men that had been taken down had been taken to the hallway he was meeting his brothers at… There was no way he could quickly and efficiently transport them by himself. 

In all reality, there was another thing Damian despised.

And that was asking for help.

* * *

 

_ Shianne Wesley _

 

The history classroom was dead silent. It was as if every person in there were holding their breath, scared to make a sound. Shianne still couldn’t quite believe what just happened. The small freshman, a rich kid no less, had pushed past the teacher and out into the hallway. Which was exactly where  _ no one _ should go. Going out into the hallway meant getting killed. After all, Shianne knew that for a fact. 

It wasn’t like she’d never been in this situation before. 

Yet, even though she had, she was still as paralyzed with fear as if it were the first time. Because, what if she wasn’t that lucky bastard this time? That would be her luck. 

Or this kid’s luck. 

Not two seconds after he went out into the hallway, there were men yelling and the sound of gunshots, closely followed by sounds of a struggle. At least the kid was putting up a fight. But everything went silent much too quickly. Shianne feared for what sight may greet them if they went out into that hallway, even though there was no way she was opening that door. 

So the entire room held their breath, waiting for what would happen next. 

The door inched open.  _ Shit _ , Shianne thought in a panic,  _ we forgot to barricade, or even lock the door! The shooters are going to come in and th-  _ She didn’t have time to finish her thought, as disbelief set in to stall her mind. Before the entire class stood Damian Wayne, face bloody, chest heaving, and looking like he’d been through hell itself. 

And by God, he seemed to have won against its demons. 

“I…” he gulped, gasping for air. “I need some help.” He held up his phone, “My brothers… they ran into a few guys too, and they’re tying them up in the janitor’s closet in Hallway 3.” Shianne somehow found her voice, and she stepped forward. 

“But… but how in the world did you do that? How did your brothers, apparently, do that?” she demanded. 

“Well, we’re the Wayne kids, what else did you expect? We’ve been attacked, jumped, and kidnapped way more times than you’d believe. So,”  he gasped again, finally looking like he was catching his breath, “we take self defense classes so we can defend ourselves.”

“Oh,” was all Shianne could say. It made sense the more she thought about it. When someone got kidnapped as much as these rich kids did, wasn’t it natural for them to need to learn how to defend themselves? However, that did not stop her from being surprised. As in, out-of-her-mind-this-cannot-be-happening surprised. “And you said you needed help doing...what, exactly?”

“Oh,” Damian looked back into the hallway in a nonchalant manner that belied the situation. “I need some help getting these guys to Hallway 3. They’re, uh, really heavy.” Shianne looked reluctantly into the hallway to see the incapacitated attackers sprawled on the floor, spots of blood peppering the white tiles. For a moment her heart clenched, and she felt as if she couldn’t breathe. It was too similar to last time. She took a few calming breaths to remind herself that now the roles were reversed, and she wasn’t in any danger.

_ Yet, _ her mind whispered to her. She quickly dismissed the thought, but it clinged to the back of her mind nonetheless. 

“Okay,” she turned away from Damian and towards the rest of the class. “Can a few of you guys help us with this? We really should get this done quickly, before more come.”  Several of the larger guys nodded and stepped forward. One man, however, did not agree. 

“N-now, we shouldn’t jump into things,” the teacher said with a wobbly voice. “As the only adult in this room, I-I need to guide you through this… W-we shouldn’t go outside of this room at all, no matter w-what some kids just so  _ happened _ to achieve!” He pointed a shaking finger at Damian Wayne. The teacher’s eyes lit with fear and accusation as Damian’s were aflame with something unnameable. Perhaps nervousness, or maybe even fear?  _ No,  _ Shianne thought,  _ that’s not right.  _ The look in the freshman’s eyes… if she didn’t know better… that was something that held a confidence and anger unlike anything his demeanor showed. The teacher’s next words brought her out of her reverie. “Anyways, couldn’t they be working with the mob or gang or whoever took over the school? I refuse to believe that a  _ kid _ , a  _ rich kid _ , could possibly do what this child just did! Maybe getting us to give them these kids is all a trap?! What if all four of ‘em are working with them!” The teacher was now hysterical, looking like a trapped animal in the very open classroom. 

“Mr. Risner, please, just calm down,” Shianne pleaded, stepping protectively in front of Damian. “Take a few deep breaths, and think about what you’re saying. Damian couldn’t be w-”

“No!” he shrieked. “No! You’re with them too!” Before Shianne could react he pushed past her and seized Damian in his arms, hurling him out into the hallway. Shianne and the rest of the class rushed out into the hallway, unsure of what to make of the situation. In Shianne’s mind it was clear that Mr. Risner was having some sort of a mental breakdown, but she couldn’t help but wonder if some of the others were entertaining his feverish and outlandish notions. 

By the time the class had piled out into the hallway, a desperate scene lay before their eyes. There was Damian, the small freshman, who was being held firmly in place by a crazed Mr. Risner, and he still had that uninterpretable look in his eyes. Shianne had now pegged it as detachment from reality, numb shock of a mind unable to comprehend the situation at hand. And Mr. Risner himself had an entirely different look in his eyes, that of a man who no longer saw the world as it really was, who viewed it through a warped and evil lense, like a broken glass bottle in a dark alley, smeared with blood and corrupted souls, as he held a gun to Damian’s head. 

And seeing the mass of students, promptly turned the cocked gun to his own temple, and pulled the trigger. 

Shianne doubted she would ever wipe the image of blood from the backs of her eyelids.

* * *

 

_ Damian Wayne _

 

The look in Damian’s eyes that Shianne had mistakenly called detachment was far from such. It was cold calculation, with an undercurrent of blazing anger. He had known that this was a possibility from the moment he had stepped into the hallway, as he had known dozens of others. Yet, he had filed this one away as unlikely. He berated himself, it was obvious. He should have checked Mr. Risner’s medical and mental history before jumping to such a conclusion. In all honesty, keeping up the act of “scared, overwhelmed child who was lucky to take down a few inexperienced and sloppy thugs” to react soon enough to stop the man. Even then, this scenario was entirely necessary to keep up Damian’s innocent front. 

Even as Mr. Risner pulled the trigger. 

The weight that held him in place suddenly disappeared as his captor fell back to the floor, the gunshot echoing throughout the hallways like a roar of thunder. Damian stood perfectly still, waiting for the people in front of him to react without making a move. He needed to see what they made of the situation, and act accordingly. 

However, before Damian or the students could think, much less do anything, the sound of pounding feet startled them. They turned towards the sound, which came from the back staircase at the end of the hallway. In a panic, like a herd of mindless animals startled into a stampede, the students all turned towards the opposite direction and tumbled away from the noise. In their minds it could be only one thing: the criminals, come to kill them. Only Shianne stayed behind, to Damian’s surprise, noticing his immobility. She opened her mouth, surely to urge him forward, when a din from the area the students had run to grabbed their attention. 

They had all stopped, sneakers creating the sound of squeaking rubber as they all skidded to a halt, stopped by the sound of footsteps from the way they were running.

They were trapped. 

Damian’s classmates all grouped together around where he stood, and Shianne, surprisingly enough, clutched at him and cried in fear. He hadn’t realized she had grown so attached to him. Hmm, people surely acted strangely when they believed they were going to die. 

With Damian’s sight obscured by the mass of bodies, and Shianne, who had now pressed his head to her shoulder as she sobbed, he could only listen as approximately six sets of feet approached, three from both directions. 

Damian was extremely close to breaking his facade and pushing out of the crowd of congealed bodies to face the problem when a loud holler stopped him. 

“ _ LOOK OUT BELOW _ ” came the gleeful shout, and Damian look up soon enough to see a figure vaulting itself over the students, and heard a dull thud as it connected with its target. 

Well, at least Damian’s good-for-nothing brothers were competent from time to time. 

“Get down!” Another voice warned. The students followed suit, and finally Damian could see what was going on. Dick had knocked out one man, and pinned the other, while Jason held his gun on the third one, eyeing him from across the crouching students, daring him to move. He looked very nearly ready to shoot him, but Tim quickly leaned in, and even though it was too soft for the normal person to hear, Damian’s trained senses picked up on what he said.

“Jason don’t you  _ dare _ ,” Tim cautioned. Jason huffed and with a miniscule move changed his aim from the thug’s head to his knee and fired. This, of course, elicited a few surprised screams from the students surrounding Damian. Now that his brothers obviously had the situation under control, Damian simply couldn’t contain himself any longer. 

“Took you imbeciles long enough!” Damian accused. “You ask me, half the size of you all, to drag these men to a different hallway without even thinking to help?”

“In all honesty, Dami, I think you would have murdered us had we suggested you needed help,” Dick admitted.

“That’s beside the point! It would have been more efficient.”

“More efficient if you killed us?”

Really, it was taking all of Damian’s self control not to do  _ exactly that. _

Oh, how he sometimes despised his brothers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, what did y’all thing? Please let me know!  
> Again, I am so sorry that this chapter took so long to get published, and I am also *sigh* really sorry about how dramatic and dark it got. Really, that bit was probably caused by the writer’s block that I’ve been plagued by recently, and I regressed into my usual writing style! :( Please tell me what you thought.. What style you may prefer… who you want to to spotlight next time? Please review/follow/fav, etc! Let me know any suggestions you have, and also if there are any typos or something! Also, due to the festive time of year, I’m going to take a little break from this story to pursue a few holiday shorts for various fandoms, hopefully including this one, so stay posted!  
> Love you all, and thank you!  
> ~TheFullmetalSociopath


	4. Dad is Way Too Tired for This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! So sorry for the long absence… I really don’t have an excuse…  
> Please accept this final chapter as an apology? And feel free, actually please review and let me know any suggestions/requests for fics. No promises, but I may accept requests? I don’t know anymore. Please read/review/follow/favorite, the whole shebang, and most of all please enjoy!

_ Bruce Wayne _

 

Sometimes, Bruce really couldn’t stand the news. Whether it was spreading some rumor about a scandalous and made-up activity of his, getting dangerously close to exposing his and his family’s vigilante identities, or bringing him the news of the next slew of villains to fight, it was just annoying as hell. 

And yet today, today, the news made him feel something different entirely. 

Bruce, for all the world, was clouded in a shroud of worry and anger so impenetrable that had it not been for the crowd of rich businessmen surrounding him and gaping up at the TV, and then back at him in horror and pity, he would have most certainly gone crashing back to Gotham armed to the teeth, damn the consequences. 

But Bruce was surrounded by rich businessmen. 

He was unable to go rushing back to Gotham to bring pain like had never been imagined before upon the heads of those insufferable thugs. Unable to bring darkness deeper and more terrible than the gaps in between stars into the souls of those cowards. Unable to help his sons as an array of equally pampered, pudgy,  _ weak _ men stared at him like they knew his plight.

And even through his haze, Bruce had a plan in mind to get past all of these obstacles.

Gotham, here he comes.

And not even God can help the poor souls who made the mistake of targeting his children.

* * *

 

_ Ronald “Ronnie” Yates _

 

Ronnie supposed he didn’t care much for the news. It was a troublesome thing, and monstrous at times, gaining a mind of its own and endless fervor whenever it sniffed a potential story. Given his habits, that scared him more than he would ever admit. He would never admit it because the moment he did the news would be on him like the leeches they were. 

Today, however, the news was focused on one thing, and one thing only. 

The threat on one of the world’s most famous billionaires’ sons was quite the story, after all. 

Ronnie also supposed that the faked sympathy and the pitying mask he slapped onto his features made him a terrible person, but that didn’t bother him much, he already knew that part. Even so, the horror and despair on Bruce Wayne’s face did make him feel sorry for the man, but he really couldn’t connect, being a young man who had no children and who was still very much single. And who needed a certain businessman, vulnerable and in need of a supporting, friendly hand, to owe him a favor later on. 

This impending tragedy could turn out to be an unparalleled business opportunity.

“I’m so sorry,” Ronnie ventured, turning away from the television that painted the bleak conference room red and blue, lights dancing along the sleek table. Bruce Wayne looked to be in a stupor, and slowly came back to the present to look at Ronnie in apathy, his face devoid of all emotion.

Oh, dear. Maybe Ronnie shouldn’t have said anything. This guy was in bad shape. 

“Mr. Wayne,” Ronnie plodded on, forcing a kind gleam into his eyes. “I hope they will get out alright, they’re good kids.” Of course, Ronnie had only really met them in passing at various galas, and never really gotten along with any of them (they were strangely rough around the edges, too much so for Ronnie. Maybe it was a result of being publicly schooled), but Wayne needn’t know that. “I’m here to help, anything you need, just give the word,” Ronnie offered.

Suddenly, all the emotions that had been lurking just underneath Wayne’s facade spilled forth in the form of tears. 

“Yes, thank you Ronnie,” Wayne sobbed. Ronnie had to stop himself from preening in pride that Wayne remembered his name. “My poor boys,” Wayne sniffled. The rest of the men in the room muttered timid condolences. 

“What… what do you think they want with them?” Wayne whimpered out the question with his head in his hands, clutching at his hair.

“I’m not sure, but, uh, they may be doing it for ransom or something of the like,” a portly old man piped up, and Ronnie wanted to kick the geezer for it. If Wayne got it in his head that he needed to get back to Gotham, to help in any way possible, then all Ronnie’s work would be for nothing, ruined!

“Then I need to get back to Gotham,” Wayne cried, eyes on the edge of frenzy. The boom from his chair, which was knocked to the floor as a result of Wayne’s quick shift to a standing position, made everyone in the room jump.

“Sir, are you sure that is a good idea?” Ronnie questioned in (fake) concern. He had to salvage this. 

“Yes! I have to go immediately. Please excuse me, but I have to go,” another strangled sob escaped his lips as he finished his statement, and Wayne dashed from the room.

Dammit!

* * *

 

_ Bruce Wayne _

 

No one stopped him as he left, and no one questioned why he would leave in such a hurry. Why would they? Bruce had just needed it to be believable, because if he had been anything but a stupid and sniveling idiot in trying to leave that conference, people would have started to get suspicious. 

The flight on his private jet was so smooth and uneventful it felt wrong, and however fast it cut through the sky, it was never enough. The landing at the airport was an entirely different story. Reporters crowded in on every side, as always, but at the moment he was much less inclined to tolerate them, though he still had to. New, however, were the guards that insisted on escorting him to where he was going, Everyone knew it was the school where his sons went, where the hostage situation was, to negotiate for their release. 

However, when he arrived at the school at long last, two hours after the incident began and two hours too late for his liking, a surprising sight met his eyes.

And Bruce didn’t know if he should be proud, angry, or just plain tired.

* * *

 

_ Shianne Wesley _

Shianne couldn’t quite recall the events of the past hour or two. It was all such a confused, and frankly, traumatizing, blur. Those two hours had felt like both the longest experience of her life and the most fleeting moments at the same time. Shianne unashamedly clutched a shock blanket around her shoulders and huddled on the steps in front of the school, watching the police lights dance across her field of vision and the many police officers rush in and out of the building, many hauling along criminals with varying levels of injuries. She squeezed her eyes shut when a covered body was wheeled away, because she knew who it was. 

Really, it was incredible no one else had been killed.

And it was all thanks to the boys who were being questioned by the police, just feet away. Shianne watched as the officer, seemingly satisfied with their answers, disappeared off into the throng of parked vehicles and milling people. She wasn’t sure why, but the Wayne boys seemed to be in an argument the moment she left, and if she wasn’t mistaken, they were gesturing in her direction. The one with the white streak in his hair, Jason, if Shianne wasn’t mistaken, shoved Damian in her direction. Damian, after sending a venomous glare over his shoulder, stalked over to where Shianne sat. 

“How are you coping?” he asked stiffly, sitting down awkwardly next to her. 

“Alright,” she murmured, casting her eyes downward. “I just…” she trailed off, tears burning her eyes as the memory of that blood stained hallway flashed across her mind. “Thank you!” she cried, clutching Damian in an embrace. Reluctantly he put his arms around her, and held her as she cried, in both relief and sorrow.

* * *

 

_ Jason Todd _

 

Jason grinned as Damian consoled the girl who’d been in his class at the time of the hostage situation. Man, he hated the little demon brat, but he couldn’t deny that it pleased him that he was making friends. Tim was smiling faintly, and Dick was  _ giggling _ , the idiot. 

“Oh, don’t look now,” Dick pointed past the pair of freshmen on the steps, “look who’s joined the party.”

A black limo jerked to a halt, and a disheveled billionaire stepped out of the door. None other than Bruce Wayne, rich man extraordinaire, the Batman, the Most Tired Man Alive™ (courtesy of the Wayne kids), but right now he was just Dad. Jason could tell. It was the concern that gave it away, the genuine softness that rarely shone through his many masks. Really, Jason guessed that the only time Bruce wasn’t wearing a mask was when he was being Dad. 

Bruce easily convinced the police to let him through, and picked his way over to the rest of them. Damian, noticing his presence, gently extracted himself from the crying girl’s embrace and joined them. 

“Are you all alright?” was the first question that escaped Bruce’s mouth. Jason was almost surprised. He noted the deep worry lines on Bruce’s face and the slight redness to his eyes, as well as his rumpled suit and unkempt hair, and came to the conclusion that maybe Bruce was going soft, totally in Dad mode. Once Bruce was sure no one was hurt, despite the bloodstains on their clothes, he asked his second question. 

“Was anyone killed?” Bruce’s eyes gained a sharp gleam to them, and Jason caught him shoot Jason what looked like a glare.

_ Now? Are we doing this now? Of all times, after we just saved an entire f*cking school of kids, we’re having this argument now? _ He was about to voice his opinion, and inform Bruce that, no, he actually did not kill anyone and hadn’t for a while now so if he could just  _ trust him _ for once… but someone else beat him to the chase. 

“Actually, B, only one person was,” Dick piped up. 

Before Bruce’s gaze could darken, Damian clarified, “It was a teacher who committed suicide.” Bruce relaxed, but then caught sight of an injured criminal being wheeled out to recieve help,  unable to walk due to gunshot wounds in both his knees. 

“But I assume you used guns?” he asked Jason specifically, turning to face him fully. “You know that’s against the family’s code.”

Jason was about to bite out a scathing retort about how he didn’t have to follow Bruce’s stupid no gun code, because it was just that, stupid, but Bruce continued talking. 

“Though, I think I can make an exception today,” he said warmly, shocking Jason into silence. “You did good boys, come here,” he opened up his arms, and the Wayne’s gratefully hugged their dad.

And though Jason would never admit it, to anyone, ever, he may have shed a few happy tears.

* * *

 

_ Nash Deas _

 

Nash watched from his perch on the stairs as the richest man in Gotham, who practically ran the city, drowning in money and allegedly extremely neglectful of his children, according to the nastier rumors, pull his kids into a tight embrace. 

Nash still wanted to deny everything that had happened in the past hours, but he couldn’t bring himself to. That gruff voice that haunted his nightmares, despite it being his saving grace that terrible day, had been echoed again today. 

Normally, Nash would have just written it off as paranoia or some hallucination of the ears or something like that, but with what happened today…

He just couldn’t forget. 

And as he watched, as he saw the five black haired men smiling and laughing, even in the aftermath of something so terrible that it had left many in the school traumatized, he made a connection to another black haired family that ran Gotham. Ran Gotham, just not during the day. 

Once he realized it, it wasn’t like he would tell anyone. Nash watched Jason Todd, the guy who had saved him twice over and maybe more, look more at ease than he’d ever seen him. He had a lot of debts to repay to this guy.

Well, Nash supposed everyone had secrets. At least the Wayne’s weren’t boring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, thank you everyone for sticking with this one till the end! I know this last chapter took a looooooong time to get published. Please review to tell me what you think, favorite it, if it was worthy, and I just hope you all enjoyed it!   
> Love you all!  
> ~TheFullmetalSociopath

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for being such wonderful people, and reading this work through till the end! Lots of love!  
> ~TheFullmetalSociopath


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